


fly or fall

by SmilinStar



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 21:11:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13443480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmilinStar/pseuds/SmilinStar
Summary: He opens his mouth and speaks before he even grasps what it is he’s saying – what he’s admitting. “I’m here for the same reasons you are, Miss Wheeler.”“And what are those?”“Maybe I’m just trying to find a place in this world that accepts me for me.”





	fly or fall

*****

“Fly or fall.”

A flash of sparkling dark brown eyes, the curve of painted pink lips as the words slip from her mouth, and he somehow misses them altogether. He shakes his head. “I’m sorry?”

Her eyes only glitter more brightly as she quirks a brow – confusion shaping her tentative smile. “The answer to your question, Mr Carlyle.”

_What happens when you let go?_

“You either fly or fall. The beauty being, I get to choose.”

He swallows, mouth dry. “And which do you prefer?”

She doesn’t answer him, doesn’t look away either. Grabs instead at the rope hanging behind her, tugs once, and then she’s flying up into the rafters, until all he can see is her silhouette in the spotlight - her answer there in her graceful spin mid-flight.

He’s never tried it himself, leaping off the edge and into the unknown, but something tells him he’d rather enjoy falling.

After all, he already is.

 

*

 

It’s the end of another show. The rapturous applause grows louder inside just as the raucous heckling outside their doors gathers a voice, stronger and more defined, day by day.

_Get out of our town, you freaks._

_You’re not wanted._

_Leave. Get out. Go._

Anne does her best to ignore it, because one of them has to. She can feel the tension stiffening every one of his muscles as W.D. paces beside her. And she understands it. She does. Because, tonight, one of those hecklers had found themselves slipping into their haven, and the outburst mid-show – appalling slurs that could only have been meant for her and her alone – had been so unexpected, it had nearly cost her her footing. Of course, W.D. had noticed – always so attuned to her movements, a trained eye on her at all times, because he has to, it’s his duty to. As her trapeze partner. As her brother. As the only family she has. The only one who ever has noticed. The only one who ever will now. And he’s fuming; practically vibrating with rage, but that’s not all there is to it.

No, because it’s fear he exhales with a trembling breath.

“I’m alright,” she says, reaching out to grab hold of his arm, and squeezing with just the gentlest of pressures. She hopes to bring him out of his head and back down to Earth. “Nothing happened. I’m okay.”

He stills under her hand.

“And anyway,” she shrugs, “it’s nothing we haven’t heard before.”

“It’s not about that.”

“I know.”

He sighs, rubs a hand over his mouth, before looking away and immediately freezing. His expression hardens, and Anne doesn’t really need to twist her body around to look over her shoulder to see what, or more like _who_ it is, but she does anyway.

Mr. Phillip Carlyle stands several feet away, on the edge of the ring, a hand raking through his hair, back and forth, the other gesturing wildly, as he faces Barnum. She can’t hear the conversation, but from the look on his face, he’s angry. Frustration tenses his jaw and curls his fingers into a fist by his side.

She wonders at it.

Wonders at the cause. Wonders at what could have possibly been enough to have shattered that usually cool, calm exterior. To break through the careful, charming mask always on display.

“We should go,” W.D. mutters beside her, but she doesn’t move.

The two men seem to reach an understanding finally as Mr Carlyle nods and their ringmaster claps him on the shoulder before walking away.

She watches him take a deep breath in and out, before turning his head in her direction and his eyes find hers instantly. Almost as if he’d felt them on him all along.

Embarrassment creeps up her spine, her cheeks feeling unmistakeably warm, and she really should turn away but then he’s stepping out of the spotlights and towards her.

“Miss Wheeler,” he says as he comes to a stop in front of her. There’s a softness to his expression, concern knitting his brow, as he asks, “are you okay?”

She nods.

“That won’t happen again. Mr Barnum and I will make sure of it.”

She doesn’t ask _what won’t_. Doesn’t really get the chance as he turns to W.D., acknowledges _something_ between them with a nod, and leaves.

She realises, she never really needed to ask anyway.

Because, maybe she was wrong.

Because, maybe it’s not just W.D. who notices.

Not anymore.

 

*

 

Phillip thinks his face must look the same as it did the first time he saw hers.

It must do. Because he knows he feels the same looking at her now. Swinging and spinning in the air. Flying with a freedom he never knew he envied. She’s beautiful and she doesn’t even know it.

Anne swings back towards him, landing gracefully on her feet.

“You’re still here,” she says, not shying away from his gaze.

Because it’s not just her beauty that has him entranced. There’s steel running through her veins, a courage that burns under her skin and a defiance that keeps her standing tall, in spite of the world trying to beat it down to dust.

Phillip admires her. Admires her in all the ways you can somebody without being in love.

Because he’s not. In love. That would be preposterous. Ridiculous. Positively insane.

“I am.”

“Why?” she asks, turning away to re-powder her hands.

“Because I’m quite fascinated by your act.”

She turns, holds his gaze once more. “That’s not what I’m asking.”

He opens his mouth and speaks before he even grasps what it is he’s saying – what he’s admitting. “I’m here for the same reasons you are, Miss Wheeler.”

“And what are those?”

“Maybe I’m just trying to find a place in this world that accepts me for me.”

She stares back at him, and he resists the urge to shift under her scrutiny, to look away.

“There is no such place,” she finally says, before leaping back off the ledge.

 

*

 

It’s been months since Barnum’s spectacle of a show started and has gained the kind of momentum they never dreamed was possible.

Still, they’re not oblivious to the restlessness that thrums through their leader, that has him drumming his fingers and constantly on the move. He’s looking for something more. Something he’s never had before and it’s only when Mr Carlyle brings the news of the Queen’s invitation that Anne realises just how much he craves it.

The kind of respect not one of them has ever had.

Barnum is thrilled. Of course, he is. But ever the level-headed one, she can’t get carried away. Because surely not. Surely, they hadn’t _all_ been invited.

But then he proclaims, quite firmly, and with no room for argument, that if they can’t all go, they won’t go at all. And try as she might, the warmth that blooms in her chest, melting that wall of ice just a fraction more, is hard to ignore. And so, she lets slip a smile. A genuine one.

She thinks it goes unnoticed.

_It doesn’t._

“I saw that,” W.D. tells her later.

“Saw what?”

“That silly look on your face.”

“I have no idea what-”

“Carlyle. You know you can’t.”

“W.D. I don’t- I’m not-” she stammers, and it does little to help her case.

“Just be careful. I’m not sure I can catch you from that kind of fall, Anne.”

She says nothing more.

 

*

 

“You want to give it a try, Sir?”

He looks at the rope she offers in her hand as she comes to a stop once more in front of him.

“Phillip,” he corrects.

She shakes her head but doesn’t pull her hand away. “Mr Carlyle.”

He breathes out, a smile on his lips and it’s enough to turn the corners of her own. “Another time maybe.”

“There’s no shame in being afraid.”

“I’m not.”

She laughs. And he wants to hear it again. Wants to be the one that makes her laugh, always.

“Oh you are. But you want to know something, _Mr Carlyle_?” And she says his name again, this time with a hint of a smile, a tease, as if there’s a shared joke among them. “I always am. And it makes the rush of the fall that much sweeter.”

He shakes his head with a soft chuckle, and says once more, “I’m not afraid.”

“Mmmhmm,” she hums. “Of course not.”

 

*

*

*

 

The flames lick up at the night sky. So high, they’re touching starlight.

Anne can do nothing but watch as the circus, their home, burns to ash and dust in front of her.

She can do nothing but wait with her own breath caught painfully in her chest, smothered by smoke, face pressed into her brother’s chest as his arms hold her in place, as her dreams crash around her with every second that passes and neither P.T. or Phillip emerge from the wreckage.

She’d always thought, had been led to believe, that this world held no place for people like her. People like them. She’d even told him as such once.

But, somehow, along the way – between the stolen glances, touches, smiles, laughs, tears – he’s made a liar out of her.

Because his place is by their side. By hers.

Because there’s nothing sweet about falling.

The landing is hard, painful, and sometimes you can’t get back up.

And she thinks that may just be her fate.

That is, right up until the point P.T. stumbles out of the blaze, Phillip limp and unconscious in his arms. And it’s only with the rise and fall of his chest, that she thinks, maybe just this once, fate has better plans for her.

For them.

(Thankfully, she’s right.)

 

*

 

“Fly or fall?” he asks her after – lying in that hospital bed, breath on her lips, fingers in her hair, keeping her in place.

She doesn’t mind.

She’s never letting go again.

“Both,” she answers, “but only ever with you.”

 

 

**End.**

**Author's Note:**

> I’m obsessed with this film, this soundtrack, and these two. First time writing for them, and so this was just a little something I wrote to help me find their voices. Not sure I succeeded, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway. :-)


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